


Sincerity

by a_peach_tree



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All mistakes are mine, Character Driven Plot, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Ron is an unwitting Wing Man, Unwilling Drinking Buddy Theo Nott, World Weary Harry Potter, and Blaise is fine actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_peach_tree/pseuds/a_peach_tree
Summary: In which Hermione and Draco try to figure out who they are, what they want, and how to get it.a story in three parts
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. Part One, Chapter One

_**Part One:** _

_**Don't** _

_In which Hermione takes a risk, Draco contemplates a marriage of convenience, and everyone else tries to keep it all together._

* * *

_______________

_February 6, 2001_

It wasn’t that he expected life to be different, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be so entirely the same. 

Malfoys have always been exceptional, and the war had made no difference in that respect. However, those exceptions had once meant power. Now, it meant dwindling bank accounts, arranged marriage proposals, and sitting in pubs where no one knew him, getting drunk on muggle liquor, waiting for the day to end. 

He turned to Theo and drawled, “Now you don’t think,” a pause, he drank, had been drinking, would continue to drink until he passed out or vomited, “that I am an unlovable monster with a fetish for snakes and skulls, do you?”

“I’ve heard your mother loves you very much,” said Theo, his lone companion. He turned on his stool and stole the rest of Draco’s whiskey. He then raised a finger to the bartender for another. 

Draco swung his stool back and forth, marveling at the swivel feature. He preferred these to the stationary kind. Muggles were brilliant sometimes. “When’s Blaise getting here? He’s sweeter to me.”

Theo turned to him and flashed his teeth so wide it almost looked like a snarl, “What, Draco, am I not enough for you?”

How long were they going to be sitting in bars, staring at the sticky floor and hoping for the world to change shape? Hoping that they can become different people. Begging the world to allow them to change too, if only a little. 

“Theo, the world has never been enough for me. Or do you not recall the time I aided and abetted the guy trying to end it?” He downed his freshly acquired drink, waved off the offering of another. He was already swaying in his seat, drifting on an invisible current. Getting home was going to be difficult. Maybe Blaise would apparate him home, if he ever bothered to arrive.

Perhaps he finally gained sense and took himself away from this terrible country, moved back to Italy like he always talked about.

Malfoy allowed himself a moment to imagine freedom. What it would feel like to be liberated from his past, his life, his future—the mistakes that echoed out forwards and backwards, the choices that surrounded him from all sides, blocking him in. Drunk, head dizzy and world blurry, he heard Theo say, “Wish I could forget it, Draco.”

And he said, or thought, or mumbled, “I don’t.” But he wasn’t sure if that was honest, and was very sure that Theo wouldn’t believe him even if it was. 

They sat in silence, emptying their glasses, and when Blaise finally arrived it was just to take them home. 

_______________

_February 17, 2001_

Luna’s birthday parties were always peculiar occasions, and this year was no different. George had gone all out with the decorations, covering their apartment in heart balloons and streamers. 

Hermione and Harry had spent most of the evening hiding in the corner, trying to avoid the many Valentine’s themed pranks George had set up to trap unsuspecting guests. Neville had already been dyed bright pink for standing too close to some jinxed cupids.

“I’ve checked the drinks and I think they’re safe,” Ron said as he ducked behind the curtain of streamers, the thin barrier keeping the pair obscured from the rest of the party. 

Harry reached for his first, tentatively extracting it from Ron’s grasp. He smelled it for good measure before knocking it all back. “Do I look alright?”

Hermione surveyed her friend. He was still as rumpled as he always was: glasses askew, hair a mess, shirt wrinkled. He wasn’t slowly transforming into a strawberry, like Fleur had earlier. Bill had to threaten George with so much bodily harm that even Angelina was concerned before George had agreed to give her the antidote. She’d been coughing up seeds for the last half-hour.

“I think you’re okay.”

The trio let out the collective breath they were holding. “This is worse than when Ginny broke up with me. He kept dosing my food with puking potion. I barely ate for a month out of fear.” 

Ron carefully looked through the streamers, “Did he do that to you?” He asked Hermione. 

She smiled at him. They’d broken up a little under a year ago, but they’d bounced back to being friends so quickly that even Harry had been concerned. She nodded, “I can blame George for a lot, sexism isn’t one of them. I got fireworks through my Floo at odd hours of the night for a while.”

“’Mione, why didn’t you say anything?”

Hermione sighed, “Please Ron, I have a little dignity. I cast a rebounding hex on my fireplace, he needed help regrowing his eyebrows.” 

Ron still looked a little peeved at his brother, but let out an easy laugh. “Good, I’m glad.”

Harry, still bristled by the topic, decided to change the subject. “As much as I would love to rehash your breakup for the hundredth time, what’s this about you having to take over for Davis?” 

Hermione sighed, “Oh, yes. The RCMC is moving me off Creature casework to manage some of probationary cases while they wait for a replacement. Not sure who I’ve got yet, but it should only be for a month or so. I think it will be rewarding, getting to work with people again. The mermaids and I are...not on good footing.”

“You tried to grant them land-ownership rights, ‘Mione,” said Ron. 

“How was I supposed to know they’d take offence! I didn’t come up with the term and if they wanted to assure conservation efforts it had to include the surrounding marshes they had to expect that land was a part of the deal. And I--”

“Stopping you right there, shouldn’t’ve brought it up. When’s your first case?”

Hermione replied, “Monday, if they let me start right away. Fingers crossed I don’t know them, I think that would be terribly awkward, having to case manage a classmate or something.”

Harry laughed, “Try arresting them, it’s not much better.”

“Flint shot me and Justin with a nasty stinging hex the last time he tried to flee the country. Couldn’t sit down for days.” Ron grimaced, remembering the occasion. 

But that wasn’t really the same, was it? You arrest someone in an instant, a moment. To be a probationary officer was to spend time together, in a room, while one party reported on their every move to the other. It was a relationship of unequals, and one that required Hermione to be understanding. “I just think it’s different, I’m going to have to care about them. I don’t know if I’ll be able to summon much sympathy, and they deserve me doing my job to the best of my ability.”

“No way you muck it up, Hermione. You’re the best employee the ministry has ever had, occasional misunderstanding besides. People are much easier than creatures, anyway,” said Harry.

Hermione frowned, “I don’t know about that.”

“Shite, I think Luna’s spotted us. Everyone for themselves.” Ron sprinted out from their hiding place. 

Harry, slowed by shame alone, was not as lucky. “Ron get back—oh! Hi, Luna. Happy Birthday.”

Luna pretended not to (or, very possibly, didn’t) notice the rapidly disappearing Ron. “Thank you, Harry! I hope I’m not interrupting, but you three have been attracting an alarming amount of nargles. Is everything alright? Not another Dark Lord, I hope.”

Harry laughed, “For Hermione’s sake, let’s hope so. She’s taking over for Davis’ probationary cases.”

“Working with criminals can be very rewarding, Hermione. Besides,” Luna got a very strange look on her face, “everyone deserves a second chance.”

“I don’t know about that, Luna.”

“I’ve often wondered how it helps, you know. Not letting people move on from their mistakes. If you hurt me, I’d want to move on from it eventually, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s different.” Hermione had hurt Luna, though. In secret cruelty, or brazen coldness, she had sought to distance herself from the woman in front of her now, who used words like ‘if’ instead of ‘when’. 

“I’m not so sure it is,” said Luna. 

  
  


_______________

_February 19, 2001_

  
  


Draco was having a terrible morning, not that it was an unusual thing. 

He had drunk too much the night before. A common occurrence, a ritual of turning the world blurry and waking up to it spinning. The mornings after—or, more often, afternoons—were painful negotiations of his body, his magic, and his calendar. 

If he stumbled into the home of a muggle, drunk on skin and lips and teeth just as much as drink, he would set to work extracting himself from the arms of his anonymous lover. If he was in his own flat, he would summon his latest batch of pepper-up potion and set about a day of brewing. 

The third Monday of every month, however, was reserved for a particular kind of torture.

And right below the date, in a charmed pen, was written:

_3 PM. Ministry. Probation Meeting._

Before it had even begun, the day was ruined. 

_____________

Hermione spent an awful amount of time wondering when the world went wrong. 

It must’ve been something, somewhere, sometime. Some terrible monstrous thing that turned the whole divine experiment sour. Cruel. When did this begin?

In the dark moments, she would admit that humanity itself might be the failure. Our own worst enemy, she would think. Cursed to walk the world and remember our shame. 

Memory, in the brighter moments, was where she pulled the thread. Cruelty stems from vengeance, right? Destruction and greed. Perhaps that’s where it all went awry.

Her parents, thousands of miles away, would probably agree. 

She was caught in a particularly terrible loop when Malfoy arrived in her office. Perhaps it was his name appearing in her calendar that brought the spiral on, his many childhood mistakes adding to the crimes humanity had wrought. 

She had watched the clock tick by with unerring focus, half convinced that the time of his appointment would never come.

He arrived though, like all things eventually do, and she braced herself at the turning of the doorknob, the opening of the door.

Hermione hadn’t given much thought to how it would feel, seeing him again. Still, Malfoy was much as she remembered him: pale, angular, with prim and proper posture, and a sullen and scowling expression souring his rather classic features.

She remembered thinking, once, among the damp cold of the potions classroom, that he looked rather delicate. Finely caste, like silver poured into an expertly crafted mold. The darkness, the dreariness of the environment had probably been to blame for that observation, because he was the opposite of fragile, of beautiful, of an ornament meant for display. 

He had, at the time of that passing thought, been planning several murders.

He didn’t seem to be observing her at all, though. His gaze trapped on the painting on the wall between them. It was a bland object, one left by the previous occupant of her office. Hermione had barely registered it since she’d moved in. He, however, seemed absolutely repulsed in a way that was painfully familiar. She wished, almost desperately, that he would just look away.

Then he turned to stare at her, and that was so much worse.

_____________

  
  


It has always been unfairly easy for Draco to find the ugly in anything. Anyone. 

So easy it could’ve been considered a skill, one that Voldermort alone might appreciate on a C.V. Present him with any work of art, wonder of the world, and he would parse out the flaw (or flaws, if they contained a unique level of hideousness) that tipped them from marvel to disaster. 

He alone glanced at Fleur and deemed her eyes too wide, her left ear slightly more pointed than the right. What startled him was how difficult it was to unsee the damage, the imperfection, and how no one else seemed to notice. 

Worse yet, his own form was not immune from this curse. He was so disgusted by his feet--wide and boney things--that he wore socks at all times, only taking them off to shower and averting his gaze the whole time. Out of doors, they are encased in patent leather shoes with goblin made embellishments to properly distract him from the horrors beneath. The pair he was wearing at the moment had a scuff on the instep of the right shoe. He’d need to buff it out or get another pair. He wasn’t sure which way he would go. 

It was all he could think about, until he spied a landscape on the wall with an alarming amount of chartreuse.

Shoes forgotten, he leaned closer to examine the plains and valleys that are constructed out of the gods-forsaken yellow. It appeared to be a rendering of wheat, or an approximation of something close to plant life. He shuddered.

Draco turned away from the painting to see Granger staring at him. He took the opportunity to stare back.

Hermione Granger had never been terribly beautiful. It really wasn’t her prerogative. Draco mused that there simply was no space on the catalog left for beauty charms or fashion consciousness.

He let his eyes hover over her form, knowing full well she’d catch him looking, and thought that maybe she could be rather pretty, if someone else was looking at her. 

“Do you find the painting distasteful?” She curled her upper lip in a way he recognized, and spared a moment to wonder if she practiced it in the mirror. How many times had he performed it for her, before she’d memorized the shape of his mouth?

It was almost charming, flattering even, that she’d noticed what he did with his lips.

He put on relaxed, comfortable airs, purposely slouching his shoulders, “Just admiring the scenery.” 

The smirk shrunk, just a little, “If that’s what your face looks like when you admire, then you’ve done a great job.”

“Of what?”

“Hiding your admiration for me.”

Draco was not above laughing, especially when someone was being particularly funny. So he did, he let it ripple through him. Tipped his head back and threw his whole chest into it. Granger was always good at entertainment.

This action also had the pleasant effect of turning Granger’s face bright red. A blush, from rage or shame, was smeared across her cheeks. 

“Sit down.” And there was that tone, the one she used on Weasley whenever he refused to focus on his schoolwork. Those two always were an odd pair. 

He acquiesced. “Are you the new Davis?” 

“No, I’m just here until they find a replacement.”

“Sure, Granger, and when will that be?” The Ministry was never going to find a compassionate enough fool to take the job. If it took less than a year Malfoy would be shocked. 

“A month, this is very temporary,” Granger replied. She seemed to believe it, too. 

Maybe they wouldn’t care, and just hire a sadist. Someone who took joy in tearing people down, who would go out of their way to make his life miserable. Davis had been too lazy to do that, and he had counted himself lucky for it. Granger being here was a strange comfort, in a way. 

Draco said, “If you say so.” He made it sound cavalier, let a grin leech into his tone. 

Granger’s hair seemed to grow with her anger, “One time thing, Malfoy. Mark my words.”

“I will, Granger. I will.” 

With that, he leaned back in his chair and they began.

  
  



	2. Part One, Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is a little frustrated, and some of the stakes are set.

_March 2, 2001_

It began with an owl. 

Theo had invited Draco over for a bit of fun, code for taking mood altering potions and wasting the day in the game room, and Draco had decided he was due for a mindless afternoon. Shortly after arrival, however, he had been disturbed by the tapping of a beak against glass. 

Theo wandered up to the creature, and announced, “Never are for me, are they? Even in my own home.” 

Theo threw his body onto the settee, sighing dramatically, before tossing the letter gracefully over to where Draco was sulking in an overstuffed armchair, waiting for Blaise to arrive. 

His name was scrawled in a masterful, yet delicate, hand. Letters like this never meant anything good, he’d learned. 

He was not disappointed. He read the letter, swiftly tossed it into the fire, and announced “Theo, no more waiting.”

Draco pulled the cork out of his vial, tossed back the purple liquid inside, and sat back as the world dissolved into pink smoke and contentment settled around him. 

Another owl arrived, and another, and another, and another, and another, and another. 

Neither of the boys moved as the paper piled up around them, both lost in their dream worlds. 

Hours later, when Blaise finally arrived to revive them from their slumbers, the pile had nearly swallowed them whole. 

“What is this?” Blaise asked, plucking an envelope from the top of the pile.

Draco shook his head, brain foggy with hazy dreams of flying away on a breeze and never returning, “It’s nothing.”

Blaise, who knew that Draco only said nothing when he meant _I've been tasked will_ _assassinating_ _our headmaster_ , pulled open the envelope and scowled. 

“What is it?” asked Theo, who had pulled his body out from under an ocean of paper. 

Blaise looked at Draco, but stayed silent. 

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, and said, in a quiet voice, “Astoria has answered my parents betrothal request.”

_____________

_March 7, 2001_

Hermione wondered if she deserved it.

The endless pressure, the undue stress, the inhuman expectations that she be better. That Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, must be more. She must be extraordinary.

She’d had her own hand in creating the expectations, back when every correct answer on her exam, every extra inch that she added to her essay, was the thing that would prove she deserved to breathe. That she had earned her space in their world for another day, and no one could point to her failings as a witch to say that she was not magic. 

They had given her so much praise, it had felt true. She was the brightest witch, and no one could deny it. Hermione had proven to them, again and again, that she was infallible. She was powerful. She was going to change the world. 

And then, just once, she had gone too far. The RCMC had trusted her and she had failed them. 

Just once was all it took. Just one mistake. 

And it was like everything she had ever worked on, everything she’d done, hadn’t mattered at all. 

Hermione Granger wasn’t perfect anymore. 

They had no more use for her.

She looked at the permanent relocation slip on her desk, thought about all the things she had given up for this world that hadn’t wanted her, that had tried to cure itself of her like she was an invading disease, and wondered if any of it had been worth it. 

_____________

_March 17, 2001_

  
  


“Mother, you can’t be serious.”

This conversation had, in many different forms, been taking place for the last two weeks. It was currently happening over breakfast while his mother delicately cracked the shell off her boiled egg, his honey-sweetened porridge cooling before him. 

“Draco, darling, I don’t know what you expect me to say.” 

Draco leaned his head against the back of his chair, hoping that the ceiling would be more receptive to his pleas. “That we will continue to look for other options before…this.”

Narcissa Malfoy, who had started to spoon the egg onto her toast, didn’t even pretend to appease him. “Aeneas has just begun the betrothal contract for Astoria, darling. I imagine it will take weeks, if not months, for him to send us a copy. It’ll be months more before we agree to the terms, and when you do become engaged we will have a season or two, if not a year, to plan the wedding.”

“So what you’re saying is there’s time?”

She sighed, which was normally something the Malfoy Matriarch would find undignified, “Draco, what I’m saying is that this matter is closed. You like this lifestyle, don’t you? The estate, the vaults, the food, the pedigree? This is what it will take to maintain it.”

He only frowned.

“What with your incessant desire to be intoxicated on one thing or another, and your father in Azkaban for the foreseeable future, someone had to do something in order to return us to our proper standing in society. I will not be blamed for my initiative, nor my considerable concession of waiting until you neared the end of your probation before starting this process.”

It was easier to stay quiet, so that is what Draco did. But he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t a considerable concession at all. 

It was barely even a courtesy. 

_____________

  
  


“So what, you’re just going to marry her?”

Pansy Parkinson’s birthday party was a dreary affair. It wasn’t even a party, really. Just a few charmed streamers added to the ceiling, a cake, and four miserable individuals playing poker did not make a celebratory affair. 

“He’s not _just_ going to do anything, Pans,” said Blaise. “Draco’s also going to maintain his very complicated calendar of being drunk at various times throughout the day, brewing illegal potions, and being debilitatingly miserable.”

“He does keep a full schedule.” Theo frowned, and moved his poker chips to the center of the table. “All in.”

“You can’t do that every hand,” Pansy whined. “It ruins the game for everyone.”

“I can’t help the way I feel, Pansy. And the way I feel about these cards can only be expressed by betting everything I have.”

“I fold,” said Blaise. 

Draco desperately wanted to jump out the window, or throw himself onto the fire. He settled for tossing his cards into the center of the table, resigned to Theo’s eventual win.

“I’ve spent ages waiting in Gringotts trying to get a representative, but no one will take my case. The vaults will remain sealed to me until the end of my probation, at the very least. We’ll run out of money by then, but with the Greengrass money we could get a proper lawyer, at the very least.”

“Sounds like you’re giving up.”

“It’s just easier, Pansy. Can you blame me?”

And blissfully, none of them mentioned the last time they had taken the easy path, nor how terribly it had ended for all of them. 

  
  


_____________

_March 19, 2001_

She’d spent the morning organizing the casefiles for those waiting to be arraigned. It was a long and complicated list. Even three years out, people were still on trial for crimes committed during the war, and that didn’t include the aftermath and the power vacuum left in the Ministry. People, it seemed, were always waiting for others to fail. 

By the time Malfoy arrived, Hermione was already exhausted.

She sighed, “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Hermione could almost hear the insult. Her hair was hideous, her clothing drab, her career an endless and futile trek towards an early grave.

Malfoy, who had yet to say anything, let alone sit down, said, “Do you wanna get a drink?”

“Honestly?”

He nodded.

“Sure.”

It was the walls themselves, she thought, that made her agree. The way they seemed to sag inward, as if slowly collapsing under their own weight. The walls, or the neverending stream of paperwork. In the last month she had developed no less than three new calluses. It seemed like she was filing for a whole department, rather than just her caseload. It was an impossible task, something cruelly sisophisian, and she wanted to be done with it. 

Malfoy, who had never been quiet in his life, silently waited for her to collect her things. She made very efficient work of it, the piles sorting themselves with a wave of her wand. She scrawled a note, just in case anyone came looking for her, and walked out the door, leaving him to trail behind her. 

Malfoy followed her to the Apparition point, and that on it’s own had been unsettling enough. She’d forgotten how good he was at being a shadow, taking on the shape of whoever stood before him. 

She stopped near one of the pillars, and waited for him to make a move.

When he did nothing, she held out a hand, “Where to, Malfoy?”

Malfoy blinked, “Are you really going to let me Apparate?”

“I really am.”

He shrugged and held out an arm for her. When she grasped it, he looked at her like she was a little insane and muttered, “ _Gryffindors_.” 

Before she could reply she felt the familiar pull at her navel, and they were gone. 

_____________

Draco had not begun the day thinking he would ever see Granger take a shot, let alone before the sun had set. Let alone with him.

But there she was, muggle money pressed into the bar before she’d taken off her coat. 

She’d raised an eyebrow when they arrived outside The Lucky Cup, but kept blissfully silent. Granger was smart enough to know why he’d occupy muggle establishments. 

She had, after all, read his file. 

Normally he would take a seat at the bar for easy access to refills, but something about Granger made him want to retreat into a booth. He ordered whiskey and moved to take a seat, took a moment to wonder if Granger would follow. 

Not five minutes later she slid in across from him, a tipsy flush brightening her cheeks. Her hair was twisted into two low buns at the nape of her neck, and some curls had escaped around her face. She had small ears, he noticed. Dainty. 

Draco took a long drink and grimaced a little when he swallowed. 

“Come here a lot?” She asked. It was a fair enough inquiry, but outside of that dismal office he didn’t owe her answers. 

Granger had been kind, though, in their last meeting. She ran through the checklist with unerring precision. _Have you taken drugs in the last thirty days? Have you been involved in any altercations, physical or magical? Have you committed or witnessed any criminal activity since our last meeting? Have you attempted to leave the country? Have you found a place of employment?_

He has answered with a blank stare and hollow ‘no’s, and she had not pushed for elaboration. Even Davis had liked to turn the knife in, make him write out all his failed attempts to find a job. 

Until his probation ended, ten long months from now, his life wasn’t his. Not really. Not when someone, when _Granger_ , had the right to send him to Azkaban if he ever said ‘yes’ to the wrong question. It made sharing feel dangerous, but it always had been.

“How about we play a game?” He replied instead. “A question for a question.”

It felt more fair, more equal. He also found that he was itching to know how she ended up in the basement paper pushing for the probation department. 

Granger gave him a measuring look, but seemed to brush her suspicion aside in aid of her curiosity. “Fine. Answer mine first.”

“Yes, I’m here a lot.” He shot her a glance, “My turn.”

“That was hardly an answer.” 

Draco laughed, “That was hardly a question.”

“How--” she started, but he cut her off. 

“Uh, uh, uh. It’s my turn, Granger.”

She frowned, but didn’t continue. 

He spent a long minute looking at her, at her hands wrapped around her pint. Her jumper was worn, a slight tear in the corner. Granger was a bloody war hero and here she was, slumming it with him on a Monday afternoon. 

“Why did you agree to drinks?” He hoped it sounded disinterested, that it was plain and therefore innocuous. Those were the types of questions that got honest answers. 

Not that he expected Granger to lie. 

Granger shrugs though, as if she hung out with Death Eaters every day. “Didn’t want to be at work anymore.” She smiled, “What’s something you wouldn’t tell me in a probation meeting?”

“I like the color blue. How did you really end up in the basement?”

She sagged, ran her fingers up and down the sides of her glass. “I messed up the mermaid accords for half of the UK, tried to grant them land rights.” 

Draco leaned against the table, “You, Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, tried to give mermaids property?” 

“Firstly, yes. I did,” she sniffed. “Secondly, that counts as your question. Thirdly, it was _marshland._ It’s basically water anyway! We were renegotiating the territory in their accords with RCMC and somewhere along the way I added in the surrounding land to the conservation provisions.” She was visibly distressed now, but hiding it with more skill than he assumed she’d possessed. Then again, he’d seen Granger dodge a killing curse without flinching, and a clerical error had seemingly unraveled her. 

He said, “Sounds like something your superiors should’ve answered for, if you ask me.” It was a little close to comforting her, but she also let out a breath. It was almost as if no one had ever cut her a break before. 

“It’s a little silly, right?” She laughed. “But also, don’t go anywhere near water until this is settled. The merfolk have an unfortunate drown-on-sight policy when it comes to enemies, and I’ve put the entire wizarding population of England on their list.”

“I read about that, I think.” After an unprecedented number of attempted drownings, St Mungo’s had released a water advisory. 

“The Ministry was kind enough to keep my name out of it, but also shoved me into the basement until they can get the situation under control. It’s all very embarrassing.” 

Draco contemplated being insulted that handling his case and others like it was a punishment set out by The Ministry, but he decided to let it slide. Granger had just admitted to a mistake for the first time in her life and he didn’t want to ruin it. In fact, he was thrilled by the possibility of her doing it again.

There was something about Granger doing something wrong that made anything feel possible, but in the way that improbable things, even awful things, make the world make less sense than before. Like finding a slain unicorn at the age of eleven, it was as if someone had tipped the world slightly out of balance. 

It was as if Granger doing something wrong meant that he just might be able to do something right. 

“What do you do for fun?” she asked, taking him out of his thoughts. 

He considered proper answers that one should give to one's probation officer, but settled on the truth instead. “I don’t really have a lot of fun. I come here, I drink, I see Theo or Blaise or Pansy. Sometimes I read, but rarely. I used to work on experimental potions but stopped.” He pushed himself into the corner of the booth. “Right now I’m too busy trying to gain access to the rest of our vaults before I run out of money.”

“Aren’t you rich?” Her face decorated with obvious humor speckled and confusion. Granger’s emotions were loud. It set the whole conversation off balance. 

“Do you not recall a certain trial?” He stopped before continuing, keeping the panic out of his voice. “You were there, I was there, the whole wizengamot was there. Remember?”

“I wouldn’t forget that.”  
  


“So you heard the part where we owed war restitutions, and fines, and then later on we were penalized for not getting the ministry the gold fast enough, even though I was under house arrest at the time with mother and father was rotting away in Azkaban and _no one_ was getting anywhere near our vaults anytime soon. Not to mention that we weren’t even authorized to open them until they were inspected for dark objects, an investigation that is still ongoing.” Draco exhaled. “It’s all very complicated and designed to keep me separated from anything that might make my life easier.”

Returning to his flat meant writing letters, checking vault statements, tracking down the various properties the Malfoy Estate has scattered across the globe and investigating whether or not someone would buy property owned by the Most Evil Wizards in Britain. The clock was ticking on his bachelorhood, though, and that motivated a man. 

And if not a man, it certainly motivated him.

“Why don’t you get a job, Malfoy? It might be easier.” 

He forgot, sometimes, that they really were of separate worlds. That Granger had lived a parallel existence to him. They’d breathed the same air, sure, but the importance of each breath and the fear they might not be able to take the next had come from very different sources. 

“No one wants a Death Eater on their staff, Granger, let alone _me_.” He knocked back the rest of his whiskey, “If you think planning to assassinate our headmaster is something people are ready to forgive, maybe you have gone off the deep end. What’s next, citizenship for pixies?”

If he wasn’t halfway drunk, he might’ve noticed Granger’s frown, or the frustrated set of her shoulders. Draco might have noticed that it was not the time to bring up the past, or even the present. 

He might’ve noticed that their newly brokered truce was coming to an end. 

“Maybe I have, if I’m here with you and somehow forgot—even for a moment—that you’re a cruel, miserable _boy_ who refuses to live up to literally any expectation of decency.” And it is a bitter tone, something that made him feel unpleasant, haunted things. His father at the dinner table, a cursed laugh from his aunt, the ever-present frown of Snape. 

_You will amount to nothing._

“So what if I am?” Malfoy leaned his head back against the hardwood of the booth. He felt torn begging her to scorn him and not caring if the pub itself was on fire. Torn between the cavern opening inside his chest and the argument that was forming around him.

The frown deepened, “So what if you are.” Draco reminded himself that their previous conversation, the whole afternoon, wasn’t reality. What was occurring now, this exchange of cruelty, was normal.

“We were having so much fun, Granger.” He closed his eyes, resigned. “Don’t ruin it.”

“There isn’t anything to ruin,” she stood, grabbing her coat. “And fun isn’t the word I would use to describe whatever this was.”

“What would you call it then?”

“A mediocre way to waste an afternoon. I’ll see you next month, Malfoy.”

Granger left without a second glance.

Draco did not say goodbye. He did pick up his glass, collect his coat, and wander over to the bar. 

With the sound of the closing door, he ordered another drink.

With the day already gone, he was determined to waste the night too. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the warm response last chapter! 
> 
> I feel like this story will experience some growing pains, but I have high hopes for the future. All your comments and kudos really warm my heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This is chapter one of a very ambitious project (for me, at least). I've got a lot of it pre-planned, some of it pre-written, and a desperate need to kick this first chuck out of my drafts and into the world. This was the first ship, and first fandom I ever read fic for--about eight years ago now--and it holds a very special place in my heart because of it. I'm absolutely terrified!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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